The Bitter taste of victory
by obsessionsrock
Summary: Enobaria is a misunderstood girl who wants to prove she is worth something. being forced to grow up to soon leaves scars in her mind and in her heart. this story is in the point of view of Enobaria from catching fire. I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES ALL RIGHTS TO SUZANNE COLLINS; im new and i hope you enjoy enobarias journey.


**The POV of Enobaria **

When I was 5 my mother tried to drown me in the metal tub. She held her hands on my shoulders as she pushed me under the water. I screamed and struggled but I was useless against my mother's grip. I remember watching her through the clear water, her face was a mask but her eyes were full of hatred. My father walked in and punched her and yelled, spitting out curses that he later told me not to repeat. He scooped me up in his arms and took me to my room.

My mother was a peacekeeper and my father a butcher. They both had weapons that they showed me, they taught me how to sharpen a knife the correct way, and how to block attacks. They took me to centers and I trained there. I was a natural fighter. I trained for 5 years. They were kind enough, but Mother always looked at me with fury. Father had forgiven her for the bath incident, but he would never trust her again.

When I was 10 my father caught my mother beating me in the root cellar. I was already unconscious and my father called it quits. She begged him to stay and blamed me for being a failure. With his gloved hands he scooped me up again and took me to the nearest medical center. He later found out by the doctor that mother had been beating me for over a year. Bewildered he asked the doctor how she could tell. She told him the scars on my body were from a whip, and only peacekeepers had a whip.

By the time I was 11, my father had passed away. My mother had committed suicide after my Father left. Homeless and alone I set off, wandering around District 2. I spent 13 days on the street, hiding in a small metal bin. A woman by the name of Ann-Marie found me, starved and weak. She scooped me up the way my father had and took me to an Orphanage. Once there I had been bathed, fed, and clothed. I was pampered and treated as if I was glass, and one touch could shatter me. They made sure I was healthy and polite and showed me to the other girls.

The five of us were polite and quiet. We spoke only when spoken to, and ate only one helping. I was a joke to the rest of them; they pulled my hair and hid my clothes when the eyes of our caretakers did not look. They acted kind and sweet, but their dark side would show up at night. One night I had gone to bed early, feeling ill. A young girl, with beautiful emerald eyes and golden curls, snuck up to my bed. She thought I was sleeping, when in fact I was so feverish it hurt to move. She put her pale hands on my throat and squeezed. I had gasped and my hands shot up to my neck. I clawed at her hands in fury. Somehow I forgot about the pain and my sadistic side controlled me. I pounced on her and I squeezed her neck. She squirmed under my grasp and I kneed her in the rib cage.

In the end, they decided to take me to a mental hospital. I tried to explain that she attacked me first, but we know how well that worked. Drugged and thinking I was insane, I was treated like I was 4 and I really hated it. It was mainly mental exercises and almost no physical training. I had really hoped that the five years of training would still be there when I got out. And I would get out.

And now almost 2 years later I sit on the soft bed with the rusted springs. Today is the day. Today is the day I've been looking forward to since I got here. I was finally leaving the hospital! I was dressed in a silky soft blue jumpsuit that was little loose with brown boots. Hospital patients wear jumpsuits and boots for some reason I never understood. My black hair was in a ponytail and my wrist was covered in washable black ink. The black ink was there to prove to the guard that I was free to go. "13 year old Enobaria Claviers is free to go ma'am" a southern guard said to a small woman with greying hair and wrinkles. She nodded and added another stamp to my arm, this time with a circle and a star in the middle. The guard took me to a door and walked me outside. District 2 was exactly how I remembered it. People bustled around and I could hear the clinking of blacksmiths. I ran to the fence and pushed in my security number into the electronic pad. I pressed my fingers on to the numbers, screen on the Pad blinked red then flashed green. I pressed my thumb on the scanner as it scanned. An electronic voice squeaked "confirmed" and the gate opened.


End file.
